


Cracked Bottles

by TinyAngryWriter



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, One Shot, Pining, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 20:04:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13911186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyAngryWriter/pseuds/TinyAngryWriter
Summary: Guilt. That’s perhaps the first thing Washington felt... Everything started to spill out, but it wasn’t like a dam breaking. It was more like a cracked bottle.





	Cracked Bottles

**Author's Note:**

> As usual I was talking to my best friend notsebastianstan (on tumblr) and we were talking about a particular post about when Caboose was talking to Phillis about Tex killing the reds and Tucker so then that went on to how many sim soldiers were killed by freelancers for training or something and then this was born from it.   
> I’m probably going to mess up some of the times so oh well. Also I havnt watched the latest season of RvB so…yeah whatever.

Guilt. That’s perhaps the first thing Washington felt after being taken in by the sim troops, the ones from blood gulch. It was about a month or so that he finally recognized what that sour taste was in his throat. He couldn’t help but think, for the first few weeks, about how easy it would be, how untrained they are. As resilient as this group is, he could take them all out while they were asleep. Seeing as how they took on Meta, he wouldn’t want to take a chance in facing them while they were awake. 

But then they welcomed him into their oddball group…for the most part. The red leader… Sarge, still thought they were on teams and had to win a war. But then there was the whole thing with Carolina and finding the director. Seeing her again… it just brought up how ignorant he was back then. The missions, the training, the killing. It’s a wonder that he could even sleep just the few hours he did. 

“Wash?” a soft voice called, making him snap his blank gaze up. Tucker, a man who Wash would call his best friend, the man he pined for and would protect with his life because that’s all he really knew how to do. That’s the only way he really knew how to show love. But it was the sour taste that hasn’t left his throat that held him back. Tucker didn’t need to worry about someone like him… someone with all his baggage. 

Their ship crashed on some planet a few weeks ago. They’ve made do, but the reds set up camp across the canyon…again. Old habits die hard, at least Wash hoped not.   
“What’re you doing up?” Tucker asked, seeing as how Wash hasn’t said anything for the past two minutes. 

“Nothing Tucker, go back to bed.”  
Stubborn as always, Tucker walked over and sat across from Wash at the table. The coffee mug in the ex-freelancer’s scarred hands was now cold. Wash looked into the dark brown puddle, there was barely a sip left.

“You need to sleep too Wash.”  
“I do sleep,” he responded defensively.  
“Two hours isn’t enough.”  
The pair stared at each other with narrowed eyes, both of their sharp tongues at the ready. But Wash gave in first, he sighed and dropped his gaze.   
“Why are you up private?” Washington asked.   
“I was just going to take a piss, why are you up?”  
“It’s nothing,” Wash said getting up, his coffee mug in hand.   
“It’s something,” Tucker turned to watch his movements.  
“Just drop it Tucker,” Wash gritted out.   
“Why?” 

Wash’s back was turned to Tucker so he didn’t see when the other man stood up, his fist clenched in frustration. He just wanted to help Wash, why couldn’t he see that?   
“I’m just trying to help you, you prick,” Tucker blurted, he flung his arm out as a jester while walking closer to the ex-freelancer.   
“Well I don’t need help,” Wash gripped the edge of the sink.   
“Yeah, you do! Jesus Christ Wash just tell me!” 

Finally Wash whipped around to face Tucker who was only a couple of feet away. Tucker has never seen such fire in Wash’s jade eyes. Tucker could feel his dark cheeks and the tops of his ears burning. They were so close, Tucker could smell the sugary coffee on Washington’s breath.   
Looking to Tucker’s warm amber eyes, so open and trusting him, David Washington. He doesn’t deserve it. Washington lowered his eyes as the sour taste grew into a sickly ball, sliding down his throat until it landed in his stomach. It felt like he had to throw up. 

“Look at me,” Tucker clenched his jaw hard.   
“I can’t.”  
“Why not?”  
‘I don’t want you to look at me differently,’ is what jumped on Wash’s tongue. But instead he bit the statement in half and swallowed it, so the sickly sour ball would have some company.   
“You can’t help me,” he said instead. 

“I can try,” Tucker edged closer, hearing the defeat in Washington’s voice let Tucker release his frustration and become gentler. Wash’s head lowered and suddenly it was pressed against something warm and firm. Tucker’s shoulder. Washington froze as Tucker’s arms wrapped around his body, hesitantly Tucker’s hand covered the back of Wash’s neck, Washington tensed up before he relaxed into Tucker’s embrace. 

A little more confident now, Tucker relaxed his hand as they sank to the floor. He could feel the spot where they tried to insert Epsilon. It was thin, like a little SD card could slide in. There were grooves from where the wires were threaded in. If Tucker was brave enough, he could feel that the wires and surgical scarring went down along his back. Wash didn’t talk about project freelancer a lot, he would only talk about his teammates sometimes. 

“I-I don’t mean to- I can’t help it,” Wash choked out. His freckled and scarred hands were now clutching the back of Tucker’s shirt. Everything started to spill out, but it wasn’t like a dam breaking. It was more like a cracked bottle. The pressure’s now too much and it’s starting to leak. But then another spot on the crack gives in and starts leaking. 

Washington is rambling, saying so many things so fast, and most of them don’t correlate.  
“It- it’s just a habit, we were trained to always have a way. But I don’t want to think it, I don’t mean to. The nightmares a-and and the memories won’t stop and I- I’m sorry, we- I had to,” Wash’s voice broke as he continued. The bottle finally shattered and all Wash could do is choke on air and spit words up. All Tucker could do was hold the man he’s come to respect, admire, care for and love. 

Finally, Tucker started to piece it together. The sim soldiers were training, tests for freelancers. Washington, his missions, the training, he had to kill sim troopers. Tucker didn’t know what to say to that, so he just continued to let Wash gasp and dry sob into his shoulder. He wasn’t crying, it was almost like his jade eyes were dried up… or maybe the director had their tear ducts removed. 

After half an hour Washington was finally breathing normally but he didn’t move. It was like they were glued to the floor and his head was too heavy to lift. Tucker got up and took Wash’s hands in his, urging him to stand. Washington slowly lifted his head to look into Tucker’s amber eyes again. He got to his feet slowly and allowed Tucker to pull him into his room and was then gently pushed to lay down on the bed. Wash watched in confusion as Tucker climbed in next to him and folded the blankets over them. 

“Tucker-“  
“Shush.”   
“But-“  
“Shut the fuck up.”  
A few moments of silence passed before Tucker turned onto his side to lay his arm over Washington’s chest and pull him closer.   
“Try to sleep, I’ll be right here.”  
“But-“  
“It’s ok, you were young, and it was your mission. But you’re older now and we… I trust you.”   
Hearing that, Wash felt like a button was hit and slowly released pressure and the tension. Instead of laying there like a stiff board, Wash relaxed and turned to face Tucker.  
“Thank you Lavernius,” Tucker felt his cheeks burn again and he pushed Wash playfully muttering, “Shut up David.” 

The next morning Caboose walked into the kitchen to find Wash and Tucker, smiling shyly at each other, talking softly over their mugs of coffee, their fingers threaded together. He smiled at that before asking about pancakes.


End file.
